When the Unexpected Occurs
by JohnnyUtah857
Summary: The unexpected... Hamnet never thought he would come across another human in the jungle, Gregor never questioned who his parents were, and Luxa, she never thought she would ever see her dead parents ever again. Rating might change...depends upon later chapters.
1. When They Met

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Underland Chronicles.**

**Author's Note: Okay, this is my first fanfic in this fandom, but as a lover of the series I was seriously amazed by how few stories there are about Hazard's mother so I thought I would write this. That said it isn't singularly about Hamnet, Hazard, and his mother. There will be Gregor, Luxa, and a lot of the others too. So, about updating, I have no planned dates or anything and have another fanfic still in the works and also I have tons of homework this tri, but I'll get to this one when I can. On the topic of Hazard's mother's name there was a logic to the way I picked it. As many of you know Hamnet was the name of Shakespeare's son, who was believed to have been the influence for the character Hamlet from, duh, _Hamlet_. Now in that play Hamlet's love interest was Ophelia, therefore I figured that Hazard's mother's name probably would've been Ophelia had Suzanne Collins told us that. I hope you enjoy reading this; I appreciate feedback and reply to most reviews. **

How long had he been wandering through the jungle? Were he to be asked that question he would have trouble giving an answer, for he only knew it had been long enough that Regalia now seemed a distant memory in the back of his mind. Now faded to the point it seemed more dream than reality. The water surging through the gates flooding the garden and the screams and chaos of the dying that followed, now a nightmare from a past life that was no longer his own. He was nobody now. No longer was he the perfect, obedient son of Solovet, her best man. He was never going back. How could he bring himself to face that woman he was supposed to call mother ever again? Was there ever a more wretched creature in creation than she? Solovet. Her very name sent a shiver down his back, a month's worth of memories of the suffocating black of that dank cell void of all light attacked his fragile sanity, resulting in yet another migraine. What kind of mother could treat her child so?

So distracted by his thoughts he was he didn't hear the rustling of leaves on the branches until it was upon him. Fervently he reached for the dagger tied to his leg, but drew back his hand upon seeing what it was, well who it was, for it was another human. But it was not a human like himself. Her skin was golden tinted, and the hair, long, curly, and tangled, but most definitely black. She was not alone either; the rustling of leaves forewarned him of the presence of at least one other and what an other it was. A hisser, twenty feet long nose to tail and at a height to almost his shoulders.

They must've been there several minutes, just staring at each other in blatant shock. So far he had run into a number of unexpected things, but of all the things he had seen she was the most unsuspected of them all. With green eyes and black curls she could only be one thing, an Overlander. An Overlander who hadn't been brought to Regalia or captured by rats? The odds were slim of avoiding such fates; not to mention, she ought to have been dead by now. Funny thing was she was looking at him as if he were the outsider and not she. Then again, he wasn't the one with the 20 foot hisser as his companion.

"Do you think he knows how to speak?" the hisser asked the Overlander, who softly chuckled.

"I can speak," Hamnet stated.

The Overlander woman nodded her head, "So I see." Those green eyes were vigilant in their duty as well as quite mesmerizing, beautiful, in fact. Were eyes like hers common in the Overland? Her smile was quite enamoring too, yet awkwardly restrained. She was weary of him. He wondered if he was the first human she had seen in... Hmm... how long had she been down here? If he were the first human she had seen in awhile though, he could understand the weariness. He didn't look like her, their accents differed, and this wasn't home to her like it was to him. Her eyes had moved down to his leg, locked on the dagger there.

He bent over and removed the dagger from its bindings. Her green eyes widened in questioning intrigue as he handed it to her. As she tested its weight it all too clear she had never held a weapon before, nor did she care to as her crinkled nose hinted.

"Well, who are you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Who am I? Who are you?"

"I asked you first."

The hisser's set stare unnerved him, so he answered. "Hamnet, yourself?"

The girl seemed to have not caught the last part of his reply as with tilted head and a furrowed brow she whispered to herself, "Hamnet? What a peculiar name?"

He coughed, and she flashed him a look of quick annoyance. "I've introduced myself, would you care to follow suit."

She shrugged. "Ophelia Katsoros."

He smiled, though, he didn't know why. "Well, Ophelia, may I walk with you and your hisser companion."

"Hisser?"

He pointed to the blue-green scaled creature beside her.

"Oh, Frill." She looked to her companion and politely inquired, "What do you think, Frill?"

The hisser's eyes looked him over before giving a brief nod. "Well he's a killer." For some reason the Overlander didn't even flinch. She hadn't known the word for hisser, but she knew killer? That was a sad commentary on the perspectives held by the other creatures of the Underland of the humans.

"He's seems decent enough," Ophelia spoke in his support.

"Hmm…he looks interesting."

"He does."

"Polite."

"Certainly."

"Very well."

Ophelia nodded and turned to Hamnet, "You can join us."

* * *

><p>Fifteen years, and not one word. This wasn't something you kept secret for fifteen years. If the crash had never happened would he ever have known?<p>

"Gregor, she's coming up. Do you want to get your sisters or for me to?"

"Could you, Mrs. Cormaci." His elderly neighbor nodded, and went into the next room to ready his younger sisters. Sisters…well that wasn't completely true anymore was it?

There was knock on the apartment door. It was her. Previously he had known her only as a once student of his father's. Ahem his adopted father's. Now, it was complicated. He stood and walked to the door. Deep breath, his hand wavered over the knob. Was he trembling? After all the things he witnessed in the Underland, it was humorous that this had the ability to make him shake as he was.

He swung the door open, and paused. She was beautiful, and younger than Grace, only thirty-one. Well, duh. She had him when she was sixteen. Ms. Cormaci informed him her husband had died when she was eighteen, they were only married only three months.

"Gregor?" the woman gasped, tears were in the corner of her green eyes.

He nodded.

The smile that instantly flashed upon her lips quickly washed away by guilt.

"Would you like to come in?" Gregor offered.

She gave a small nod. He pulled a chair out at Ms. Cormaci's table and she obliged, thanking him, and went to get two root beers before he sat down opposite her. Neither one spoke, though, there was so much to say. There was a strange intimacy in the silence. It was interesting how they could be both strangers and kin. His eyes lingered on her smile. His mother…Grace smiled, but never so often and never ever so warmly, and her eyes lingered on his scars.

"Why did you leave me?" Ever since he had found out from the lady he had grown up believing was his grandmother the truth of his parentage he had been asking that question to himself.

She shook her head. "I didn't, Grace took you."

Gregor frowned, "Why?"

She studied the grain in the table's wood. "I was sad. Eric... so recently dead." Eric, his biological father. The love of her life as the news article describing his mysterious death had claimed. "But, I'm better now, and I tried to see you, but Grace said it wasn't a good idea and to stay away because you were going through enough already, and that if I wanted to do anything I ought to send money."

"Which you did." Every Christmas, a thousand dollars. Every Christmas just a generous friend whom he'd never met. Now he guessed he'd be spending the rest of his Christmases with her and her relatives, maybe Eric's, too.

"Of, course," she sincerely replied.

"The counselor told me I had a half-sister."

She nodded. "Lydia."

"And that you live in Denmark."

She nodded, "I'm planning to move back to New York."

"You don't have to," he protested.

"Don't worry I already have a good offer for a job here," she replied. "So you've been living in Virginia?"

"Yeah."

She left it at that, and sipped the root beer Gregor had retrieved from the kitchen for her. "I know where you got those scars, Gregor."

"No, I don't think you do," Gregor remarked. Everyone looked at the scars, so many had assumed he had got involved in a gang or something. Well, he guessed the or something part of that thought process wasn't that far off. He didn't expect what his biological mother asked next.

"So you're not the warrior?" she asked, and barely a second later in a puddle of root beer on Ms. Cormaci's pristine linoleum tile floor the glass Gregor had just been holding was reduced to a pile of broken jagged glass.

* * *

><p>Vikus shook his granddaughter awake. "Luxa, Luxa, Luxa," he urgently called.<p>

"Hmm…oh, Vikus." She pushed herself up, yawning. Had she slept late? If so, her body wasn't feeling the benefit of any additional rest. If anything it felt robbed of potential sleep.

"Get dressed; you're needed in the council room," he urged as she pulled her from her bed.

"What's the matter Vikus?" she worriedly asked. Had the alliance with the rats gone sour? Was there another conflict between the rats and the mice? Another Bane?

He kissed her forehead, "No, no...don't worry. It's...you have to see them yourself. You will believe me a raving lunatic otherwise."

Luxa frowned but dressed. Once dressed she followed him to the council room where a regal pair waited for her. Her mind and body froze in disbelief. "Mother, father?" She was crying. It was them, but hadn't they died? Yes, Luxa, we did, they said to her and she asked why they were alive now, and they were unable to give her a concrete answer. They just were, and she willing to except it. She would be only a princess from now on, but she could live with that; she had them, her parents.

In the entirety of the Underland a great mystery had returned so many of the dead back to the living, yet at the end of the day there was no Pearlpelt, no King Gorger, no Henry, and no Solovet. Only those who had died for the sake justice or were innocent at time of death returned. Only them. Amongst the others that filtered in were her uncle, Hamnet, and Frill, and even Thalia. As much as Hazard was thrilled to have his loved ones back, one didn't return. His mother, yet he knew she had to be alive. His father was, and Frill. His mother had died of a sickness; she was an innocent and the innocents had returned. Why hadn't she? Unless the mystery miracle had excluded Overlanders. He hoped that she was just lost, then daddy could find her, and they'd all be together again. She'd be so proud of his linguistic talent and tell him he looked so dashingly handsome, wouldn't she? He would ask his father if they could go to where she was buried tomorrow. Perhaps she would be there?


	2. Of a Warrior

**Author's Note: Yeah, I know it's been awhile, but I've been very busy. This is somewhat on the backburner because I'm trying to finish another story up before I devote myself to this one. That said, I hope you enjoy the chapter. If you like to review, that would be greatly appreciated. Happy holidays to all. **

_1584_- _A Village in England_

It is said that men fear what they don't know, but is it not equally true that men fear that which is known to them …

A somber deed it had been, but one necessary for the ambition consuming him to reach the places it sought. _"You'll never be rid_ _of me," she cackled. "Never, never, never…" _The sword so proudly displayed atop her mantle was his; its sheath hung from the belt around his waist. Did her blood still stain his hands? He had thought he had cleansed the foul substance from his palms at the running creek just her hut , but the feel, it… he still felt it. He would always feel it, like he would always hear her voice, with that honey smooth calmness and the false sincerity, whispering and whispering the fate and fortunes of those still to come, of a warrior that would avenge her… of a warrior….

He looked over his should back to the where smoke still poured from the ashen remains of his childhood. Henry, son of an unnamed soldier and a woman who died in childbirth, left to the witch that had assisted his dead mother give birth, had died last night. Today was the birth of one with a new name and new life. Today was both the birth and christening of The Great Bartholomew of Sandwich. Bartholomew of Sandwich was an orphan, like Henry, but he had been left to an abbey. The visions he would claim as his own, he would say came from God; whereas, the ones the witch had had were from the depths of hell, for she was the wife of the Devil.

If he said God gave him the visions, the eight hundred he wanted would follow him down to the underground land the witch had spoken of to him in the hushed evenings as she cooked their simple meal of stew and bread. He'd burn like her if he spoke the truth. _"You understand nothing. Not all magic is evil, foolish child."_

The sheathed sword felt heavier than it had looked upon her mantle. His hands still felt slick with blood. He told himself he had ended her suffering. Where he had been quick in the deed, the village would've slowly roasted her to death in another of their barbaric executions. She should've been thankful he had shown her such mercy. When he had gone to her she had been sleeping. Sleeping, but just before the deed was done those green eyes had opened and had looked him in the eye. No protest had came from her; instead, she spoke to him her last words. These were the words that now rang in his ears and assaulted his mind: "You're a fool, Henry, who doesn't know his place or understand his purpose. Remember, silly boy, there comes a time for every man to pay for their actions."

She gave to him her curse. The visions. Now his soul was as tortured as hers, but he knew his path. Regalia, his destiny.

_2007- Virginia_

To a tune similar of the score of the original (as in black and white) Psycho, his alarm incessantly caterwauled, seeming to screech,"WAKE UP! WAKE UP! I TOLD YOU TO WAKE UP, SO GET UP. WHY THE AREN'T YOU GETTING THE *bleep* UP!" And so on and so on it would continue until a disgruntled bed-headed Gregor forced himself to roll over and hit snooze. His eyelids closed for a moment weighted down by the memory of a good dream while also relinquishing in the early morning's silence. With a loud groan he forced himself to do as the alarm clock bid and begin his morning routine: shower, dress (jeans, white shirt, and a gray zip up jacket), comb his hair, eat (Raisin Bran and OJ), brush his teeth, grab his backpack after a quick once-over to make sure everything's there, and then, finally, wait…

Wait beside his sisters at the driveway beside their mailbox on the dirt road they now called their own. One sister, Lizzie, had her nose stuck deep in a history book as she did some last minute cramming while the other held Gregor's hand and told the latest greatest news about everyone in her grade in her usual upbeat manner. "Erica's having a pool party for her birthday. Do you know if I can go, Gregor?"

"We'll have to ask mom, but I'm sure you can, Boots."

"Really, great! What do you think I should get her?" Boots inquired.

Gregor shrugged, "What do you think she would like?"

Boots shook her head, "I don't know. That's why I asked you." Gregor chuckled, but Lizzie shot them both an irritated glance.

"Could be quiet I'm trying to study?" she snapped.

Gregor nodded and brought his index finger to his lips to gesture to Boot's for her to be quiet, and so a silence prevailed over the siblings. Of course, not everyone knew that they ought to be quiet, for off in the distance a rooster was loudly crowing, the lead in a chorus of chickens and morning birds.

Ruth, the busdriver, was late. Now with her being a very relaxed, go-with-the-flow kind of person, such was not terribly unusual. In fact, she tended to be late more often than early, but Gregor didn't mind. He didn't like his school. Not for homework reasons, or that it was too easy (it was and it wasn't, you know), but he didn't fit. Due to the smallness of the district, he'd been thrown into a place where practically everyone had known each other since preschool or birth. It didn't help there was one fleet of buses for the entire district. I'll let that sink in. Three separate schools and only seven to eight yellow buses that didn't even invest in seatbelts shared amongst them. One bus; three different school groups (a.k.a you got your elementary, your middle school, and your high school) on one bus. So you can guess how the daily route was like: pure chaos.

However, at least, in Gregor's opinion the ride wasn't as bad as usual. Sure, being the first stop in the morning sucked, but, at least, you always were ensured a place to sit. The last stop couldn't always say that. Also the worst of the worst of the schoolchildren, a kindergartener boy by the named of Willie, had caught a stomach bug and was thus stuck home in bed for what was probably going to be an entire week. Boy, did Gregor pity that kid's parents.

In fact, it wasn't a bad day at all. Sure, there were the stares and some snide comments, but not nearly as awful as his first year here. First hour, girl asked if he wanted to sit next to her and they had a pleasant conversation about the weather, well pleasant 'til the president came up. Good old politics, you know. Second hour, he found out he had gotten a B on an essay that he had thought was going to turn out to be D quality. So yeah, life was going pretty darn great until third hour, Ms. Brown's most fascinating (*read* "Snore, breath, snore.") class, Economics, rolled around. Topic of the day: Communism. Mid-drool the class phone started ringing, forcing Ms. Brown set down her piece of chalk and pick up the receiver. The enthuism that had her beaming as she taught disappeared and she started to look toward Gregor the same way one might look at injured puppy. His mind went to overdrive. His first thoughts had jumped into analyzing what he could've done wrong within the past day, week, month, but he didn't think his wrongdoings would merit such a look of pity. No, not at all so…

"Gregor," her voice shot through the class and felt like an arrow running him through as he swallowed nervously. The chatter of his classmates ceased as they too waited to find out the source of such melodrama.

"Gather your things. Principal Tyler has something to tell you," she somberly relayed. A low hum of oohs, 'What'd you do, Gregs?' and an assortment of other calls filled the room as he rushed to stuff his binder and stuff into his too small of a backpack. Brown shushed them and placed a wrinkled hand on his shoulder as she led him to the quiet of the hall and closed the door behind them.

There, beyond the view of his classmates, she pulled him into a hug and kindly said, "I'm sorry, Gregor."

"'Bout what?" he stupidly pondered.

The teacher sighed, and resigned herself to only shaking her head. "I don't expect you to do the homework, so don't worry about it Mr. Collins."

Good, because his textbooks were all returned less than a week later when he was withdrawn from the school. It was a small funeral. Nothing showy, just less than average. They had deserved so much more was all that he could think of as the scenery of the Virginian town that had been home for past few years vanished on the horizon. Uncle Tim was at the wheel, and his wife, Aunt Veronica was in the passenger seat beside him. What he would give for her to stop looking at him like that? He knew what she was thinking, what poor children. Especially the boy, imagine not knowing you were adopted. Gregor shut his eyes tight. "You are not going to cry," he said to himself. "When you get to Ms. Cormaci's you can cry, but not until then."

_2007- A Boarding School in Denmark_

"Don't forget your papers are due Monday, and have a good weekend," the professor called after her students who were eager to start their weekends, well, except one.

"Professor?" a timid voice ventured.

Sarah Cormaci curiously turned around to see which of her students had chosen to stay behind for a moment. It was the girl that always sat in the third row to the back, the quiet one that she'd never actually hear speak until today. Sarah didn't judge her for being quiet; in fact, the girl, whose name was Laura, looked to be quite well put together as she always wore nice clothes, like today she wore a lovely floral skirt with a turtleneck that coordinated well with the colors in her skirt, and personality wise, she always seemed cheerful enough. Sarah set down the rag she had been using to clear her whiteboard, and replied, "Yes, Laura?"

"You're from New York, right?" the student, Laura, mumbled.

Sarah gave a brief nod as she gathered her things, the ungraded papers, the lesson plans, and her assortment of red pens into a duffle bag. "I am." She zipped up the bag and swung the strap over her left shoulder. "What is about, Laura?" she inquired as she led the girl out of her classroom and into the hall.

Laura nervously tucked a dirty blond lock away from her face and behind the ear before she quietly responded, "Well, I was in the library." Sarah nodded for her to continue, and gave her a smile in an attempt to make her more comfortable while Sarah busied herself with locking up for the weekend. "And I came upon this name, and it just came up once more… in connection to New York."

"I see. This mystery person, might they have a name?" the teacher amiably teased.

Laura nervously chuckled. "Of course, umm... it was something like Bartholomew of Sandwich?"

The teacher's smile vanished and a low "oh" escaped her lips. "Him, yeah, I know of him."

"Great, could you tell me who he was then because I asked the history teacher, and he knew as little as myself," Laura urged. Sarah swallowed, she could say a good deal about him… she'd crossed that damn ocean to get away from the memory of him and his Regalia.

"He's a legend," Sarah spoke, "and that's all there is to him."

"A legend? Just a legend," Laura repeated, her face contorted in a perplexed expression.

"Sorry to disappoint you, kid, but I'm sorry that's all there is," Sarah apologized, sticking to her claim. "Have a good weekend." She didn't look back as she hurried off to the teacher's apartments in the far left part of the campus. Locking the door to her given apartment behind her she got straight to the grading of papers. A couple hours in a friend dropped off Lydia and they had dinner, a good-sized meal of pizza and garlic bread. Following their dinner Lydia had settled down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and put a Disney movie into the VCR, _Aladdin_, she thought it was; meanwhile, Sarah had gotten back to grading or was attempting at it, anyway. She stared at the pages, at their Times Roman or Ariel Fonts, at the red markings she had written in the margins of those she had already gone through, but her mind couldn't focus on her task. No, instead her mind kept going back and thinking about him, Bartholomew.

In a way she had lied to Laura, by telling her he was just a legend, when, in fact, he was a bit more. Sarah groaned and pushed her arms out wide, feeling the ache of stretch. For years she had buried him, buried everything associated with that place, but tonight she couldn't shake it. For weeks she had had this feeling that-that something had changed. She rubbed her forehead and told her herself, "Don't think about them. It doesn't exist." Sarah glanced over at Lydia. "It can't, it shouldn't, exist. "

In the kitchen the landline started to ring. Sarah capped her red pen and forced herself to saunter into the small kitchen. "Hello. Yes, I'm her… Papa, that you? Has something happened? Are you alright?" Sometime later Sarah set the phone back on the wall.

Lydia's attention strayed from the movie as she heard her mother sobs. Without pausing the movie the little girl of only six years inquisitively ventured into the kitchen to find her mother red-eyed and slumped down on the floor. The small girl sat down beside her mother and leaned her head against her mother's shoulder. The child's eyebrows frowned as she sweetly asked, "What's wrong Mama?"

Her mother kissed her forehead and sullenly replied, "We're going to New York." New York, a picture of an island of skyscrapers filled the young girl's mind.

"Why?"

"Because we're going to live your Grandpa Isaac…"

"Really?" the child excitedly asked. Due to the distance, and the ocean, and the cost the airplane fare she had never actually met him; though, with all the stories Mama told of him she felt like she would be able to identify him anywhere. Like she knew that he walked with a limp, so he had a cane that was black with a silver skull atop it; also, he had an accent you couldn't readily identify, but it sounded old fashioned; he loved morbid jokes about death and disease; and he spoke several languages, which included at least two Native American dialects. Lydia also knew that his chosen profession was undertaking and because he owned the building that housed his funeral parlor he and her grandmother lived upstairs in an apartment there.

"We're going to live over a funeral parlor?" Her mother nodded. "Why? Couldn't we stay here?"

"Lydia..." Sarah attempted at an explanation, but broke into another series of sobs. Lydia warily watched as her mother cried; she wasn't sure she wanted to hear more. "You-you have a brother, Gregor. He's fifteen and he's going to live with us now, along with his two…" her mother paused, sniffled, and continued, "with his two sisters."

Lydia frowned. They were moving to a funeral parlor to live with… Her eyes widened in dismay. "When are we leaving Mama?"

"In a couple days."

"In a couple days," the child incredulously repeated. She tried to picture him, but the image her mind created startled her. For some reason her mind couldn't think of him as a regular teenager and instead she saw him dressed in armor like the warriors in the history books her mother sometime read to her in place of a bedtime story.

_2007- Regalia_

Though informed of the passing years' events by his daughter, King Thomas saw no Peacemaker, only a rat wearing a mask of alliance. Ripred had taken his time arriving at Regalia's walls, happy as he was to be reunited with his wife and pups. Arrogantly smug he snacked upon his favorite dish of a shrimp n'cream in clear sight of the king. Judith acted as the mediator, not that she was without her doubts, but because the relationship between her and her daughter was still so frail she didn't dare risk denying the girl as of yet. She was not the mother of her daughter anymore, only a stranger who had to regain the girl's trust. The alliances with the rats and the mice, especially the mice were important to Luxa and therefore were now important to her, as well. A gathering of humans, gnawers, crawlers, mice, spinners, flyers, and any other species cared to join had been gathered, which to her surprise included diggers, hissers, and stingers as well as some particularly noisome shiners, to talk over the miraculous resurrection that returned many to each of the species that populated the Underland.

Judith eyed her twin. He looked happy yet stubbornly solemn beside him his son and their hisser friend. Now considering he had never been the jovial sort, solemn was not out of place upon his face. They were speaking of the boy's mother, and Judith couldn't help but note the pain in the eyes that were so like her own. Though a protective jealousy over her twin had a place in her heart, she was not without compassion. How would she feel if Thomas was lost to her? No doubt, Hamnet felt much the same for whoever his Overlander woman was.

Placing her hand on her husband's shoulder Judith whispered into his ear, "Perhaps, you could offer to aid Hamnet?"

He sighed and shook his head. "Judith," he began, clearly intending to argue otherwise.

Judith raised a determined brow and forcefully added, "For me."

"My focus must be on my people. This woman was an Overlander, not an Underlander," he protested. Judith frowned, and Thomas reluncantly conceded, "Very well, but I make to you no promise except that I offer to him what I am able, my love, and no more."

Judith kissed his cheek and thanked him before pushing him toward her brother. King Thomas nodded cordially to his brother-in-law as he approached. Hamnet's boy bowed his head while Hamnet stood to greet him. In a show of brotherly love he embraced his wife's twin with a hearty hug and a "Nice to see that you are well."

"Likewise," Hamnet replied, his despondent tone relaying the fact his thoughts were elsewhere and not at the meeting where they were presently gathered.

"So, I heard that you and your son plan to journey to your..." Thomas hesitanted. He could say wife, but since the two had met and lived in the jungle Thomas doubted there had been a marriage ceremony between the two, and the term 'lover' might serve to diminish her value.

Mercifully, Hamnet understood and responded before Thomas could add insult to injury. "Indeed, we have plans to do such."

"Would you like me to go with you?" Thomas offered.

"No, I wouldn't want to distract you from your duties. As king, you are most busy and I would hate to interfere," Hamnet declined.

"Are sure? It would not be an issue…"

"Tell Judith, thank you for her attempt." Hamnet smiled and departed the meeting. In truth, he already knew what he would find when he reached what should've been his love's resting place, and he didn't care for anyone except his son to see him cry.


End file.
